A Song and Dance with a Little Melody on the Side
by JenniferJF
Summary: NOW COMPLETE. The Nutcracker. Other than that, the name says it all.  And I'm fairly sure this is what really happened.
1. Overture

It was cold.

Really, really cold.

Colder than it had ever been. Well, colder than it had ever been for as long as she could remember. Which, to be honest, wasn't that terribly long.

Still.

It was cold.

She pulled the worn wool military-surplus blanket she'd managed to dig out of a dumpster a few weeks earlier more tightly about her narrow shoulders. The thin material of the night dress she wore underneath added little warmth against the biting cold.

She coughed. The force of it wracked her small frame and she stumbled forward, regaining her footing just in time to keep herself from falling onto the ice-covered sidewalk. And she knew that, if she fell, as weak as she was, she wasn't going to be getting back up. Not ever. At least...

Some instinct, buried beneath layers of confused memories she hadn't the time or energy to even begin to sort out, told her there could be more, even then. But deeper instincts prevailed, keeping her up and on her feet. Driving her stumbling forward.

And then it loomed ahead of her, rising up into the dark night sky. A beacon of light and sound. A stream of people climbed its steps to pour in through its doors: men and women arm-in-arm, their forms concealed beneath layers of wool and furs, mothers and fathers leading small children by the hand, the children bundled from head-to-toe in coats and hats and mittens. Her own icy ears and fingers burned painfully as she imagined what it might feel like to stand amongst them. To actually be _warm_.

But, even from where she stood, peering out from the shadowed doorways across the road, she could feel – or imagine she could feel – the warmth of the building seeping out into the night along with the lights and the music and the murmur of hundreds of excited and happy voices, and she was moving forward before she'd even considered doing so, the siren's call of the building overcoming her instinctive need to remain hidden and concealed. Still, she knew enough not to approach from the front – to remain hidden in the shadows. To slip, silent and unseen, through the alley alongside the building. There was a door there, as she'd known there must be. It was locked, though, and she had no way of opening it.

A quick glance around and she found what she'd truly been seeking: a small pane of glass, tucked into the corner where wall met pavement. Allowing light to penetrate into the deepest bowels of the building. And one small, determined little girl.

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She'd slowly and carefully made her way out of the basement, climbing ever higher through the heart of the theater until she'd found her way into the ropes and girders soaring above the stage itself. Crouched on a shadowed walkway, she could observe the preparations below her – the dancers and technicians bustling about backstage, the murmured conversations amidst a rustling of suits and dresses as the audience settled into their seats.

Then the house lights dimmed and the stage lights went up. The curtain rising beneath her revealed the most brilliantly lit evergreen tree standing tall amidst a swirl of exotically dressed dancers and, for the next two hours, she sat there, lost to herself, as the music of Tchaikovsky filled the theater. The story enfolded below her: the small girl and her mysterious gift-giving godfather, the absurd nutcracker transformed into a magical prince, rescuing the girl – now grown into a woman herself – from the giant rats before whisking her off on a marvelous journey to a land filled with beauty and wonder.

A child's fantasy come to life before her eyes.

All too soon, though, it was over. The stage grew dark and the house lights came on and she, like the child on the stage below, was thrust back into the harsh reality of the here and now. The shadows and the loneliness of the cold streets awaiting her once more.

But not quite yet. She waited, unobserved, as the theater slowly emptied. As the performers changed out of their costumes and said their goodbyes and eventually departed as well. Until all the lights were dimmed and the theater grew dark and empty and cold around her.

Only, not as dark and empty and cold as the night outside.

She climbed down then, out of the rafters, into the shadows behind the stage. The giant tree loomed large before her, the darkest shadow of them all. She approached it, reaching out to feel the prickly plastic of it's artificial needles. Rows and rows of costumes hung on racks nearby, the dry and broken skin of her fingers harsh against their smooth fabric as she sorted through them, smiling as she let herself imagine how it might feel to be dressed so finely.

Still smiling, she wandered further back amongst the discarded remains of the evening's performance. Giant rat heads lay upon a table, the fake fur of their bodies draped in a pile nearby. Chairs and tables, a fireplace and a bed all stood jumbled together. She approached the bed, cautiously. She'd seen beds before, in shops and through the windows of homes, and on television screens. She could also remember – Almost remember? Maybe remember? – what it felt like to sleep in one herself. Soft and warm and safe.

She pressed her palm into the mattress. Feeling the softness. Chasing the memory. Trying to remember...

No.

Not safe.

Never safe.

Not even in bed.

_Especially _not in bed.

Only the memory itself continued to elude her; vague impressions only filled her mind.

But it was warm here. And, at least for the moment, safe.

She crouched down to crawl into the darkness beneath the bed. Pillowing her head on her elbow, the child tucked her legs up to her chest and, safely concealed by the shadows, within minutes fell fast asleep.


	2. Act One, Scene One

She woke to the sound of voices in the room with her. Her first instinct was to push even further back into the shadows beneath the bed.

"Do you see them?" It sounded like a man speaking, but the voice was muffled, making it difficult to know for certain.

A woman – it was clearly a woman – answered. "No. But I think I heard a scuffling over there..." The light from a flashlight spun 'round the room as she spoke.

Curiosity finally getting the better of her, the child squirmed forward until she could see out into the room...and gasped in surprise. In the shadows cast by the flashlight she could dimly see the nutcracker of the night before come to life once more across the room. At the sound, the figure turned to glance in her direction but, before she could retreat back into the shadows, the nutcracker's head was spotlit in the flashlight.

The woman, cast only as a dark shadow beyond the glow of the small light she held – which the little girl could now see was not a regular flashlight at all but a small rectangular object with a light at one end – continued speaking, "I can't see anything now."

"Maybe they've left?" The nutcracker looked around the room. "Where on earth are we, I wonder. This place is... strange."

The woman laughed. "That's funny, sweetie, coming from a man in a nutcracker mask."

Laughing himself, the man reached up and lifted the large stage mask off his head to reveal a rather odd looking face beneath. Of course, he wasn't _really_ a nutcracker, the child realized. No nutcracker had ever worn such an ugly jacket and silly looking tie about his neck. At least, the one on stage the night before hadn't. The man glanced down at the nutcracker head in his arms. "Don't you like it?"

The woman snorted.

"Nutcrackers are _cool,_" the strange man insisted as he set the mask down next to him.

His companion didn't bother to respond. Instead, she swung the light around the room again. Searching the shadows. The child instinctively pushed herself back further under the bed to avoid detection. After a moment, laughing, the woman observed, "It's The Nutcracker, Doctor."

"You've already said that, dear."

She shone the light back on the man's face. "No. I mean, _The_ Nutcracker. The _ballet_. When are we, again?"

The man lifted up his arm to glance at the watch on his wrist. He tapped it a few times and then peered closely at the face. "December the... twenty-second. 1969. New York City."

The woman paused for a moment, her light shining steadily on the man. "1969? New York? You sure?"

The nutcracker man nodded. "Yes. Why?"

The woman shook her head. "Nothing... Nothing." She turned her light back around the room. "Only, I'm fairly certain this is the New York City Ballet's annual production of The Nutcracker."

The man glanced down again at the head sitting next to him. "Well, that would certainly explain the nutcracker then, wouldn't it?"

"Yes, but why did they come _here_? Of all the places in the universe?"

"Maybe they like his music?" the man suggested.

"Whose music?"

The man and woman both swung round at the voice. The woman lifted her light, illuminating the face of the second man who'd entered behind them. This man was dressed sensibly, in a dark coat and string tie, and his white hair and beard had an order absolutely lacking in that of his younger companions. "Yours," the woman answered.

The man glanced around the room. "Nutcrackers? What on...?"

The nutcracker man leaned towards the woman and whispered, "He hasn't written it yet," before turning back to the man. "Oh. Never mind, Peter." He waved his hands wildly about the room. "Anyway. It doesn't matter. They're gone. Not here. We're too late."

"Well... If you're sure-" The older man's – Peter's – words were suddenly interrupted as a large furry figure flew out of the shadows towards the trio. Without missing a beat, the woman drew a sidearm from it's place on her thigh and fired at the creature. It stopped for a moment, suspended in midair and then, with a loud, ear splitting squeal, fell to the floor at the woman's feet.

She stepped forward and kicked the still form with the toe of her boot. "Is he...?" Peter asked.

She looked back over her shoulder at them. "Dead? Yes."

The nutcracker man kneeled down next to the creature. He gently shook it. With a sigh, he agreed. "Yes. Definitely dead. Too bad, really."

"It's a _rat_," the woman reminded him. "A giant rat. It's loss is hardly..."

The man stood up and turned back to her. "I know, River. Still," he glanced back down at the creature, "It is a dreadful waste."

River rolled her eyes.

"Is that it, then?" Peter asked. "Time to head home?"

"You never had to come," the nutcracker reminded him.

"No, Doctor. The creature was, after all, living in the basement of my house. I wanted to see this business through to the end."

The nutcracker – the Doctor – glanced down at the creature at his feet. "If only it were that simple."

"What do you mean?" River asked.

"This is a Rodentarian, River. They might look like large rats, but in reality, they act more like insects. Somewhere, some _when__ – _as this particular group seems to have developed rudimentary time travel – there'll be a hive queen, as it were."

River sighed. "Don't tell me..."

The Doctor turned to her, a grin slashing across his face, and the child decided that maybe he wasn't quite so silly looking after all. "Yeah. We have to find them. We can't have time traveling rodents traipsing all over, now, can we?"

"But you just said..." He silenced her with a look. She sighed again. "Right, then. Where do we start?"

The trio continued talking, but the child wasn't listening. Her ears, which seemed to be more sensitive than those of the adults, had detected a new sound coming from the shadows across the room.

A scuttling, scurrying sound.

Like that of a giant rat.

Quietly, so as not to attract attention herself, the child moved to the back of the bed. Squeezing out behind its frame, she crawled along the wall towards the sound. As she got closer, she could see it... And she'd been correct. Another Rodentarian, this one behind the three adults, pulling itself into a crouching position, preparing to spring...

The little girl acted before she could think. Slipping off her shoe, she flung it at the creature in the shadows. Instantly alerted, the adult's spun around. The woman's gun was in her hand and, in a single fluid movement, she dropped into a crouch, took aim and fired.

The giant rat joined the first upon on the floor.

Dead.

Only this one hadn't been alone. A flurry of fur erupted from the shadows behind it as countless creatures launched themselves into the room.

"Run!" the Doctor screamed at his companions.

The little girl hadn't waited for his command. Taking advantage of the chaos, she'd already left, running away only to find herself in a second room very much like the one she'd just left. Only in the center of this one stood a large blue box, very similar to the magic box she'd seen on stage the night before. As she could hear the others running towards her, in desperation for a place to hide, and, for once, wary of the shadows, she made the most obvious choice.

Rushing to the big blue box, she pushed open the doors and quickly slipped inside.


	3. Act One, Scene Two

The magic box was bigger on the inside than on the outside. As that wasn't really that surprising in a _magic_ box, this wasn't actually as important as the fact that it was also warm. And light. And that it smelled really _really_ good. She couldn't quite place the smell, of course – it wasn't like she ever really recognized anything anyway – but it was exactly like she'd always imagined the inside of the homes she'd pass on the street would smell. Like family and food and safety and everything else good in the world.

She smiled.

And that's when she noticed the hum.

As she listened, it seemed to grow slowly louder until it tickled inside her ears.

She giggled.

The hum intensified still further.

She might have stood there all day, playing with the magic box, if she hadn't heard voices outside the door and a jiggle at the lock. The solution was in her head before she could start to worry. Darting under the stairs, she crouched down in the corner of the corridor beneath them. Thus concealed, she was able to watch and listen without risk of being seen.

The three adults had climbed the short flight of stairs and were standing in front of the circular control panel. River was pushing and pulling levers madly while the Doctor was peering intently at a strangely flat television screen hanging from the ceiling.

"So... what's the plan now?" River asked, looking up from the controls as a loud grinding noise filled the room.

The Doctor hit a few small buttons on the panel in front of him before glancing back up at the screen. "Uhm... Let me see if I can track their signature..." He clapped his hands together in delight. "Got it! Nineteen – No. Wait. _Eighteen_-fifteen. Just outside Berlin."

River pulled a few more levers. The grinding sound faded. After a minute, she turned away from the controls. "Berlin?" she asked, smiling across the console at the Doctor. "Nice city, Berlin."

He returned her smile. Only there was something in the way they were looking at each other that made the little girl uncomfortable. Like she shouldn't be watching.

Peter, who was standing next to the Doctor, cleared his throat awkwardly. Obviously, he felt the same way. "So, what do we do now that we've found them?" he asked once he'd gotten the others' attention.

River turned to the Doctor expectantly. "Yes. _Now_ what?"

"Now," he explained, "We track them back to their lair..."

"Their _lair_?" River arched an eyebrow at him.

He grinned at her. "Yes. They'll have a lair. Isn't that cool?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes, dear. Tremendously. Then what?" she prompted.

He scowled at her for a moment, but his grin never wavered. "Then... We ask them to take us to their leader."

River just looked at him. "Seriously?" she asked after a minute.

"I'm sure they'll be reasonable."

"Reasonable... Giant hive-minded insect-like _reasonable_ rats?"

His grin intensified. "Yes. Their leader should be reasonable. Of course the warrior drones weren't. That's why they're called _warrior __drones_."

"And if she's not?"

He dismissed her concern with a wave of his hand. "She will be."

"And if she's not...?" River repeated.

"Then we'll cross that bridge when we come to it," he decided with a determined nod before turning and heading back toward the door.

River stayed behind for a minute, unholstering and checking something on the side of her gun before returning it to its place on her thigh. Then, exchanging a look with Peter, they both headed down the stairs and followed the Doctor out of the box.

The little girl waited at her place in the corridor for a few minutes after they had left, making sure they were gone. Then, quietly, she crept out of her hiding place. She paused at the door, though. What if they were still right outside. What if –

What she'd thought was an odd picture on the wall next to her suddenly sprang to life, interrupting her thoughts. It was an enormous television screen; on it, the Doctor, River, and Peter stood in a snow-covered forest. Without knowing how she knew, the child was certain she was seeing outside the box. As she watched, River glanced down at the small rectangle in her hand before pointing off into the woods. The Doctor took the lead, and the trio set off in the direction River had indicated.

The area around the box now empty, it was safe for her to venture outside. She reached for the handle and pulled to open the door; it wouldn't budge. She pulled harder. Still nothing.

Then she glanced down at her feet. One foot was covered in a threadbare leather shoe, the other was bare, with not even a sock covering it. Definitely not appropriate for wandering around in the woods in the snow.

"I can't stay here forever," she protested to no one in particular.

The box hummed around her.

"Well, I _can't_!" she repeated.

No one answered.

Not that she'd actually expected an answer, even from a magic box.

She looked around. Maybe there was another way outside. Or a key. Or maybe a second exit. Or a...

Coat rack.

It was standing there next to the stairs, a red woolen coat hanging from it. She crossed to the rack and pulled the coat off the hook. It was just her size. As were the knit mittens in its pockets and the red snow boots sitting next to the rack on the floor.

She laughed as she sat down on the bottom step to pull on the boots. She was pretty sure nothing had been there when she'd first entered the box... Maybe magic boxes could answer, after all.

"Thank you," she said aloud.

This time, she'd half-expected a response.

There wasn't one, of course.

The little girl went back to the door. She pulled upon the handle again and the door opened easily. Still laughing, she skipped outside and into the freshly falling snow, just as warm and cozy in her new coat and mittens and boots as she'd always dreamed she'd be.


	4. Act One, Scene Three

She felt as though she'd been walking forever, following an endless trail of footprints through the freshly fallen snow. At first it had been great fun, stomping along in her new boots, watching the powder fly up around her feet with each step. It had been snowing lightly and the sunlight filtering through the evergreens had sparkled on the icy flakes, filling the air with hundreds of glittering diamonds.

The snow had stopped a long time ago, though, which was probably a good thing or she'd have lost her path through the woods, but it did make the trip far more dull. And she was starting to tire from having to pick her feet up high enough to trudge through the deep snow drifts. And even with her new mittens, her fingers were starting to feel the bite of the bitterly cold air.

All in all, her journey had long lost its enchantment by the time the trail of footprints disappeared into a stony gap in the side of a hill. This must be the 'lair' the nutcracker Doctor had been looking for. Grateful to be finally getting out of the snow and the cold, she didn't hesitate a moment before plunging through the crack into the darkness beyond.

Within the stone, it wasn't actually as dark as she'd thought it would be. A strange phosphorescent _something_ was smeared along the sides of the cave, casting the underground passageway in an eerie green glow. Starting forward, she headed inward and downward, into the heart of the hill.

After several minutes, she heard voices up ahead. She slowed down, moving as quietly as she could and trying to keep to the darkest parts of the passageway to avoid detection.

"Where are you taking her?" The Doctor's voice was unmistakeable even echoing up the stone corridor.

"Do not worry. She will come to no harm. You requested to speak to our leader, did you not?" The voice that answered the Doctor was strangely muffled and slightly slurred, and as the child reached the end of the stone passageway and could see into the cavern beyond, she saw that it belonged to one of the giant rat creatures they'd encountered earlier. Three of the rats were standing over the Doctor and Peter, who sat chained to the far wall.

"Yes. But I wanted to speak to him. Or her. Do you even have... Never mind. Why did you take her?"

"Do not worry," the creature repeated. "Your turn will come." Then, without another word, the giant rat turned and left the chamber through an exit across from the little girl, the two other rats close at its heels.

"Oh. Very cheerful and helpful and not menacing at all," the Doctor mumbled under his breath as he watched them leave. Then, once they had disappeared around a bend, he looked toward the passageway in which the child was hiding, he continued, "It's alright. They're gone. You can come out, now."

She hesitated for a moment, not sure if he was talking to her. Uncertain how he could possibly even know she was there.

"Yes. I'm speaking to you, Melody."

She stepped forward, then. Slowly and carefully. Ready to dart back into the shadows behind her at the first hint of trouble. "Melody?" she asked.

"Yes, Melo –" he broke off, looking at her curiously. "Don't you remember?"

She shook her head.

"Oh..." He grinned suddenly at her. It was like sunrise, and she couldn't help but smile back. "Never mind that, then. It was clever of you to follow us, by the way. _Very_ clever and _very_ brave."

"But... How did you even know I was here?"

"I always know, little one. Now that I know what to look for, that is."

She examined him closely. He wasn't making a lot of sense; in fact, she was starting to worry that he might actually be a bit mad.

The Doctor laughed. "Oh. I certainly am that. But you won't let that stop you, will you?" The way he asked, though, it didn't seem to really be a question.

She answered anyway. "I guess not."

"Good." Then, lowering his voice so that she had to step closer to hear him, he continued, "Because, little one, as you're here, I'm going to ask you to do something even more clever and brave for me. Do you think you can?"

She nodded without even thinking about it. "Yes." For some reason, standing next to him, she suddenly felt like she could do anything.

He smiled proudly at her. "I thought so. Okay. So, listen closely. This is what I need you to do..."


	5. Act Two, Scene One

Her breath blew out, hot across the freezing glass, clouding her view. She pulled back just long enough to wipe the condensation off with her coat sleeve before pressing her nose back against the window. There were more important things she was meant to be doing – she hadn't exactly forgotten that – but she couldn't tear her eyes away. The inside of the shop was a fantasy come to life.

Shelves lined the room, filled with the most wondrous toys: brightly painted toy soldiers standing proudly at attention, wooden cannon and horses ready at their side. Unbelievably detailed dolls clustered together, long curls falling from bonnet-covered heads onto dresses of lace and velvet. Intricate clocks hung from the walls, the cacophony of their ticking audible even outside. The counter against the far wall was covered in jars and bins filled nearly to overflowing with chocolates and peppermint sticks and assorted candies of every size and color imaginable.

A sudden laugh at her back startled her. "You can see better inside, you know, my dear."

She turned to find a stranger standing behind her, a man with dark curly hair. She tried to smile, shrugging off his suggestion. "I know. But... I..." She couldn't help casting a longing look back through the window. But she knew only too well how shopkeepers felt about unaccompanied children.

The man eyes narrowed as he watched her. "Where are your parents?" he asked.

She waved her hands vaguely. "Oh, I... Uhm... Lost them."

He smiled gently. "The war?"

She nodded. "Yes. That's right. The _war._" She had no idea which war, of course. But it didn't matter. There was always a war. Even she knew that.

The man glanced past her at the shop. Then, looking down at her, he held out his hand. "Well, I was just heading in there myself. How about you come in with me? I could use some help with my purchases."

She smiled up at him as she reached for his hand. "Yes. I'd like that very much, Mister...?

He returned her smile. "Hoffman. And, dear child, it will be my pleasure."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

Some time later, her pockets filled with sweets and a half-eaten peppermint stick clutched in her hand, she left the shop with Mr. Hoffman. "Thank you," she said, looking up at him.

"You're very welcome." He watched her for a minute before continuing, "Do you have anywhere to go, child?"

She thought for a minute, biting her lip. He had been very kind to her – nicer than anyone had been for as long as she could remember – and she really didn't want to have to lie to him. But she was certain he'd never believe the truth... even just the parts of it _she_ knew. And besides, she still had a job to do. So, nodding, she answered, "Yes. Of course."

"Where?"

"I've got a home... just around the corner," she answered smoothly, indicating down the street in front of them.

"With whom?"

"People. Nice people. You'd like them."

"Child...?"

She tried to look as innocent as possible. "Yes?"

"Don't you think, maybe, you could try telling me the truth?"

She thought about it. After all, it's not like he was going to believe it, anyway. And it was certainly easier than coming up with a convincing lie. So she did.

She was right, of course. She could tell he didn't believe her. "That sounds like something I would write," he said once she had finished telling her story.

"Oh, do you write?" she asked.

"Yes. And don't change the subject. I'm still trying to decide what to do with you."

"You could help me?" she suggested hopefully.

"And if I don't?"

She smiled and shrugged. "I'm just going to have to figure it out for myself."

He looked down at her; she continued to smile up at him. After a long moment, he sighed, admitting defeat. "Very well, then. Fine. If you're so determined to get into trouble, I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I let you go wandering off on your own." He adjusted his grip on her hand and returned her smile. "Besides, I think I know just where we can find the sort of thing you're looking for, left over from the war..."


	6. Act Two, Scene Two

She crouched in a side passage next to Mr. Hoffman, concealed in the shadows. Sneaking past the Rodentarian guards when they'd returned River to the Doctor and Peter had been easy, as had been finding a decent spot to hide. And now they waited, watching the brightly lit cavern in which a large group of the giant rats were gathered.

They hadn't long to wait before the Doctor was dragged into the cave by two of the rat guards and pushed to the ground before the largest of the rodents, who she assumed was their leader. As soon as they'd released him, the Doctor pulled himself to his feet and dusted himself off. Grinning broadly at the Hive Queen (or King, she hadn't managed to sort out what gender the leader was – if the Rodentarians even had genders), he said, "Hullo." Then he glanced around the room, taking in all the other creatures, before turning back to the queen. "Thank you for finally agreeing to meet with me."

"It is I who sent for you," the queen rasped.

The Doctor dismissed the comment with a wave of his hand. "Oh... Lets not quibble over details. You. Me... Does it really matter?" His smile intensifed. "The point is, I'm here. And we can talk."

"I do not desire to speak with the likes of you. I exist to –"

The Doctor cut her off smoothly. "Wreak havoc throughout the Universe?" He paused, but when the queen failed to answer after a moment, he continued, "We had noticed, you know. Not very nice, by the way. Not nice at all. And, quite honestly, it can't be allowed to continue."

"And who will stop me?"

"Well..." he shoved his hands in his pocket and rocked back on his heels. "Me. Actually."

The queen made a funny sort of squeaking noise. The little girl was pretty sure she was attempting to laugh. "How?" the queen asked once she'd stopped laughing.

The Doctor slipped one hand out of his pocket to scratch the side of his face. "I was sort of hoping you might see reason?

The queen just stared at him silently again for a minute before the squeaking resumed, even louder and higher in pitch than before.

The Doctor sighed. "I was afraid you might feel that way." He slipped his other hand out of his pocket, pulling out a small white paper bag. The child recognized it; she'd given it to him just a few minutes earlier. "Oh well, then, perhaps..." He held the bag out to the queen. "Have a – ? No. Wait. That's not right." A grin slashed across his face. "I know. How about..." He threw the bag up in the air, towards the queen. It erupted in a rain of small purple candies which flew about her face. "Dance of the sugar plums!" he concluded triumphantly.

Which was the child's clue. Making use of the queen and her guards' momentary distraction, she darted out of her hiding place toward the Doctor. In one fluid movement, he spun around, grabbed the sword she held out to him and thrust the point toward the queen's throat.

Every Rodentarian in the room stopped instantly in frozen tableau.

"So," the Doctor continued, every trace of amusement gone, "Perhaps now you'll want to talk?"

The queen's small, black beady eyes glared at him down the length of the sword. "Talk? With the likes of you?"

"Well, it's either that, or..." he wiggled the sword suggestively.

The queen squeaked again. "You won't. You haven't the stomach for it. Weak, silly creatures. That's all you are."

The guards were advancing on them. The child expected the Doctor to carry out his threat... to thrust the sword through the queen's throat and put an end to her. But, unbelievably, instead he started to slowly lower it, a look of defeat washing over his face...

The guards crouched, ready to pounce.

The little girl moved first. She _had_ to. She grabbed the sword from the Doctor's hands and, using every ounce of her strength, swung it at the queen. Neatly separating head from body in one fluid movement.

The giant head fell to the ground with a sickening thud. All the other Rodentarian collapsed around them as well, cut off from life itself by the death of their queen.

The Doctor turned on her, a look of absolute horror on his face. "What have you done!" She could _feel _his shock and despair and fury washing over her in waves. And she felt the horror of it herself.

"I -" she began, but couldn't continue. Tears sprang to her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. She tried to turn away, unable to bear the way he looked at her.

Then his expression was shifting again, the horror she felt no longer directed at her. Instead, he was horrified at...

Himself?

And then – unbelievably – he was reaching forward, pulling her into his arms and clasping her tightly to his chest. And, as he buried his face in her hair, the tears wetting her neck weren't hers.


	7. Act Two, Scene Three

She held tightly to the Doctor's hand as they walked back down the passageway away from the queen's cavern, Mr. Hoffman at their side. As they neared the chamber where River and Peter remained prisoners, the Doctor stopped. Kneeling in front of her, he placed both his hands on her shoulders. "I need you to wait here, little one."

"Why?" She didn't want to be left alone.

He smiled at her. "Don't worry. I won't be long."

Mr. Hoffman took her hand. "I'll stay with you."

She looked up at him gratefully. The Doctor did, too. "Thank you," he said, scrambling back to his feet. Then, after another smile and a quick tweak to her nose, he turned and entered the cave and crossed to where River and Peter were chained to the wall. After grabbing a small stick-like object from the ground nearby, he aimed it at the cuffs binding River. The instrument buzzed for a few seconds and the cuffs fell off. He repeated the process on Peter.

"Thank you, sweetie," River said, standing up and rubbing her wrists.

The Doctor smiled and, with a flourish, flipped the tool into his pocket. "My pleasure." He turned to Peter, "And how are you?"

Peter nodded. "Not bad. Considering I've been chained up in a cave by giant rats for several hours, not bad at all."

The Doctor grinned at him. "Good. Good."

River glanced around at the dead Rodentarian guards. "I take it you spoke with the queen?"

"Something like that," he agreed, not meeting her gaze.

Her eyes narrowed. "You okay?"

He looked back up at her for a minute and then, grinning suddenly, decided, "Yeah. I am."

She returned his smile. "Good." Reaching down, she retrieved several of her own items from where they sat on the ground. She slipped the little rectangular box back into her pocket and strapped the gun and leather band back into their places on her thigh and wrist before turning back to the Doctor. "So, we good to get out of here?"

He nodded. "Yes." Pointing to the object on her wrist, he continued, "Could you head back to the theater and clean up there? It won't do to leave all those Rodentarian just lying about the place. Someone might notice. Even in New York."

She laughed. "Of course."

He smiled. "Good. Then I'll see to Peter. Until later?"

"Mhmm..." she agreed, and stepped into his embrace. Her arms slipped around his shoulders; his hands tangled in her hair. Their lips met and the kiss which followed seemed to go on forever. When it finally ended, River stepped back, reached for the object strapped to her wrist and, with a flash like lightening, disappeared.

"How do they breathe when they do that?" she asked Mr. Hoffman.

The Doctor, hearing the question as he and Peter joined them, laughed and ruffled her hair. "I used to wonder about that myself. You'll find out, same as I did... one day." Then, turning to the rest of them, he continued, "Now. Lets get the rest of you back home."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

They'd left Mr. Hoffman back in Berlin and, in the Doctor's magic box, brought Peter back home as well. Before he stepped out of the door, though, Peter turned and smiled down at the little girl. "Wait here, child. I'll be right back. There's something I'd like to give you."

When he returned a few minutes later, he was hiding something behind his back. "What's that?" she asked.

Laughing, he brought out the large painted nutcracker he'd been concealing. "You looked like you could use a friend," Peter suggested as he handed it to her. "And I thought you might like a little something with which to remember me – and all of this."

"Oh... Thank you!" She reached out to take the nutcracker from him and clutched it to her chest. "It's beautiful!"

He returned her smile. "It's my pleasure, child." Then, turning to the Doctor, he added, "And to you, sir. Thank you for coming to my timely rescue."

The Doctor returned his smile, but tried to dismiss the thanks with a wave of his hands. "Oh. Well. _That_. It is sort of what I do."

"What? Fight giant rats?"

The Doctor's grin grew broader. He nodded. "Yes. Exactly. Only, you know, like I told Mr. Hoffman, if you ever feel the need to tell anyone about this...?"

"Yes?"

"Do me a favor, and leave me out of it?"

-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She sat on the small chair near the controls, working her nutcracker's mechanism while the Doctor spun madly about, pushing buttons and pulling levers in a seemingly random fashion. Refusing to look at her.

Finally, needing to know but dreading the answer, she broke the silence herself. "I have to go back, too, don't I?"

The Doctor looked up at her. The look on his face was all the answer she needed.

Fighting back her tears – she was _not_ going to cry – she asked, "Why?"

At that, he stopped working the controls and came over to kneel before her, taking both of her hands in his. "Oh... Sweetie. I can't tell you. I wish I could, but..." He shrugged. "I just can't."

"Can I at least keep my nutcracker?" She was pretty sure she knew the answer to that, though, too.

He dropped his gaze.

She'd been correct. Unable to control the tears now, she asked, her voice breaking over the words, "Will I... at least... see you again?"

At that, he looked up again, smiling at her through the tears glistening in his eyes. "Oh, yes, little one. You'll see me again. I promise. I'll always come back for you."

-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-

She woke up slowly, draped in the shadows beneath the bed. Around her, she could see the dark forms of the costumes hanging on their racks, the rats' masks on their table, and the piles of props which filled every corner. Her dream was a faded memory even before she'd come fully awake.

She pulled the thin wool blanket more securely over her shoulders and, smiling, drifted slowly back toward sleep. It had, after all, been a very good dream.

Maybe, in sleep, she could find it again.


	8. Coda

River materialized back in her cell only a few minutes – from Stormcage's perspective at least – after she had left it. As far as she could tell, they hadn't even noticed she'd been gone. After stashing her vortex manipulator and squareness gun away, she grabbed her diary and a pen and went to go sit down on her bed.

There, on her pillow, sat a nutcracker.

_Her_ nutcracker.

And, suddenly, she remembered...

The Nutcracker and Berlin... Mr. Hoffmann and Peter... The alien Rodentarians.

From a child's perspective.

And then the Doctor's arms around her, holding her tight.

The rush of memories threatened to overcome her; she grabbed onto the edge of her metal shelving unit to steady herself.

And turned at the sound of a throat being cleared behind her.

The Doctor stood at the open door of her cell, leaning back against the bars.

She smiled at him. "Hello, sweetie."

An answering grin split across his face. "See? Like I said, dearest. I'll _always_ come back."

* * *

><p><em>AN: Special thanks to my beta, AstraPerAspera, for this one. She knocked out the edits very quickly so I could go from germ of an idea on Sunday to complete story by Thursday._


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